


Pigskin Mirror

by Snakefire



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Actual Research Was Done, Alternate Universe - Canada, CFL, Canada, Canadian Football League, Conspiracies, Football, Magic Mirrors, Nuclear Weapons, Other, Prairies, Temptation, answer: me, uranium, what kind of loser does research for an OC-centric fic, yeah i know right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snakefire/pseuds/Snakefire
Summary: Something deeply sinister is going on in the far north of Canada. Something which could spell doom for millions. Two provinces investigate the facility, unprepared for the controlled insanity that lurks within its walls...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pigskin Mirror is a fic I'm reposting from FF.net, where it was originally hosted. It's not complete, and it's actually still up on FF.net. I figure it might be a good plan to start rehoming some of my fics on here just in case, you know? 
> 
> Anyway. Strap yourselves in, this ride's gonna be bumpy.

 

_The first sounded, and there came hail and fire, mixed with blood, and they were thrown to the earth; and a third of the earth was burned up, and a third of the trees were burned up, and all the green grass was burned up._

_-Revelation 8:7_

* * *

 

“This was a stupid fucking idea, I hope you’re aware.”

Ontario’s voice was terse and angry, hissed at Alberta through the tightly clenched teeth of a man who’s had more than enough shit for one afternoon. He was wedged between some rough-hewn wooden crates containing some suspicious rattling canisters and the cold steel of the moving van’s interior wall, destined for God knew where. The fact that _Alberta_ was the brains of this operation was his first clue that this wasn’t going to end well; she wasn’t stupid, but then, planning was not the blonde woman’s strong point. Alberta just rolled her blue eyes in response to his little quip, checking her phone to get a sense of where they were going. They’d been in this truck for hours now, and it was just a good thing neither of them had to pee.

Alberta’s determination in the face of what was starting to look more and more like an honest-to-god conspiracy was something Ontario had to grudgingly respect. On the other hand, it had something to do with Saskatchewan, and when it came to the twins, they were willing to move mountains for each other. And whatever was going on up here was more than a bit suspicious, since whatever it was seemed to have some kind of correlation with Saskatchewan’s behaviour, or at least that was Alberta’s theory. And his behaviour was rather suspect, since her twin had been acting…well, _happy._

Not that that was a bad thing, not by any means. Ontario bit his lip, feeling a bit guilty; he wasn’t here to spoil the farmer’s rare moment of joy, he reminded himself. He released his own lip in the nick of time, as the truck hit a pothole that surely would have bumped blood out of his bite had he still been clinging on. But the guilt still persisted. Saskatchewan was a melancholy man, or at least that had been their perception of him for the last sixty years. Anything that brought joy or a smile to his dour, stoic face was something to be applauded and encouraged…or at least, that was the premise Ontario was working off of.

It was a few years after the end of the Second World War when the formerly contented and stoic Saskatchewan’s spirits seemed to dampen. He steadily grew more listless and unhappy as the decades wore on, in time with his people’s descent into apathy and misery. To be from Saskatchewan had become synonymous with pessimism, gloom, and (for reasons that had eluded medicine for decades) depression. The province had the highest incidence of suicide, depression, and dissatisfaction with life across the whole of the country- and nobody knew why. Nothing seemed to help- No government programs, not a booming economy…nothing. And as time had passed, the rest of the country slowly gave up trying to shake Saskatchewan out of its funk.

Ontario closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. That was how it had been for sixty years, and then…three years ago, everything changed. Something happened to Saskatchewan, some epiphany or revival, which suddenly put the colour back in his cheeks. The contrast was not an easy one to swallow and about as smooth and natural a transition as a car accident; it had happened over the course of a single day, too, while the farmer had been out shopping. The memory of that moment was ingrained in Ontario’s mind; how could he ever forget it?

* * *

 

_Two weeks to Christmas, and white powder snow frosted the ground here and there, full of footprints and snow angels despite the brevity of its contact with the earth. The house, Canada’s house, was warm and welcoming, the province’s second home. Ontario himself reclined in a rocking chair, perusing a scientific magazine- and in particular, an article about the nigh-ubiquitous “smartcell” technology that had by and large supplanted gasoline as a fuel source for cars and homes. It was also used in huge solar farms that could harvest terawatts of energy in just a few hours from the sun itself, using a skillfully crafted arrangement of smartcells and crude oil in pipes as a heat transfer. It was all very fascinating and positive stuff, and put a smile on Ontario’s face._

_The door swung open with an accompanying blast of cold air and snowflakes, and Alberta called out a cheery greeting, stamping her thick boots on the mat and shaking the flakes off her cowboy hat. She’d gone shopping with Saskatchewan for presents, and as they moved into the kitchen to place their haul on the table for sorting, something unusual caught Ontario’s eye. A mirror under Saskatchewan’s arm, which came to a curved peak at the top; inset at that peak were some precious and semi-precious gems, a milky opal and some emerald and jet, cut, carved and set into the shape of an eye. Aside from that, it seemed to be an otherwise-normal mirror, if a bit on the gaudy side._

_“Good haul, eh sis?” And that was strange for Saskatchewan to suddenly seem so chipper, but even stranger for him to run his fingers along the frame of the mirror almost tenderly. He’d taped a huge piece of cardboard over most of the silver part, making sure nobody else could see their reflection, though it was probably just for transport; to keep the surface from scuffs or scratches._

_Alberta nodded, and grinned at Ontario. “You’d be amazed what we found at that old antique shop! Got pretty much all our shopping done there…and Sasky picked up that creepy mirror, but hey, whatever floats your boat, buddy.” She grinned and punched her twin- gently- in the upper arm, a gesture he couldn’t help but reciprocate. And Ontario watched in amazement as Saskatchewan- glum, miserable Saskatchewan- engaged in the kind of friendly banter with his sister that he hadn’t seen in months._

_And all the while the mirror’s emerald eye winked at him from its setting, like it could see something he could not._

* * *

That damn mirror and its fucking eye had carved a hole into Ontario’s memory and slotted itself inside, an indelible stain he couldn’t seem to rub out. But it was Saskatchewan’s behaviour the last few years that had been the most strange. Normally when a deeply depressed person experiences a sharp uptick in their general mood, it’s a worrying symptom possibly foreshadowing a suicide attempt or something else; but in Saskatchewan’s case, that was largely impossible. He was a personification, tied to his land and people, and he was forbidden to die as long as what he personified remained in the minds of the population. So the sudden uptick in mood hadn’t been some kind of red flag; it was just a positive thing to accept. It was as if he had suddenly found a reason to exist again, after such a long time of woe and despair.

The truck hit another bump, and the canisters in their crates rattled again- Ontario squinted at them. Alberta’s phone provided enough illumination to make out the rough details of what was on the sides and top. They were pressurized tanks, full of a gas of some kind; he could tell from the little spigot valve at the top and the WHIMIS symbol for pressurized gas plastered on the side, beside the “corrosive” and “poisonous” warnings. They were transporting something less than savoury on this truck, he was sure of it. Ontario pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on to try and get a better look. Under the flashlight’s flickering glare, Ontario caught sight of something that made him raise an eyebrow.

FLOURINE GAS! DANGER! HIGHLY REACTIVE AND EXPLOSIVE!

The tank’s warnings made Ontario gulp. But that was just the one canister; there were others, too. One of them was a steel drum, strapped securely in place; and to make matters worse, any identifying markings on that drum had been painted over. Stamped on the lid was something even more ominous: “99.6% PURE HEX. PROPERTY OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.”

That…didn’t bode well. They would have had to pick this stuff up south of the border, and the US government probably didn’t want this container to just go missing all of a sudden. So they were doubtlessly looking for it, which meant…

“Alberta!” he hissed, gesturing at the canister, “This is fucking fluorine. And that one…that one belongs to the US government. That drum should _not_ be on this truck. What the fuck are they doing with it?!” 

Alberta nodded grimly. “Yeah, I know. I got a tip-off from Montana that something was up. He said a bunch of guys from way the fuck up north in Saskatchewan kept coming down south to Billings to buy shit off a chemical dealer there- and before you ask, Montana only looked into it ‘cause he got told that the dealings were kinda…not legal. So I guess this means Monty was totally right. What’s hex?” she asked pointedly, cocking her head.

Ontario shuddered. “Any number of things, none of them pleasant. I’m gonna go with sulfurhexafluoride to make myself feel better about this whole situation. But there is a slim possibility that Saskatchewan’s….” He swallowed, and let his voice peter out. No. That was impossible, and the only reason he’d even bothered to consider it was the fact that they were driving up to the northern part of the rectangular province. Saskatchewan had no need of…. _that_ kind of Hex.

Silence filled the truck’s bay area for an hour or a minute; Ontario wasn’t sure how much life the flashlight’s batteries had, and he wanted to conserve them, so checking his watch was a bit of a waste of effort. Alberta seemed to be oblivious to the crushing, dragging, all-consuming awkwardness of the situation, so devoted to her task that she was willing to wait in sullen silence for as long as it took. And that was admirable, in its own way, but Ontario really wanted to find a way to pass the time, because he was getting terribly bored.

Alberta hadn’t really _invited_ him on this little escapade; he’d invited himself. All of Canada’s uranium mines were located in Saskatchewan, and the figures for the mine’s total output had gotten rather suspicious of late. Ontario didn’t want to suspect Saskatchewan of shady dealings, but when a formerly-thriving mine’s production is suddenly slashed in half and yet is shows no signs of shutting its doors, well. Except it wasn’t sudden, not at all, and the eastern province knew it well. Ontario’s own nuclear power plants put him in a unique position to review Saskatchewan’s uranium production figures, a measure he took as part of Canada’s Non-Nuclear Proliferation commitments. The mines were generally owned by companies who were allowed to sell their uranium to anyone on a very specific list of approved countries, India being a good example of a blacklisted country. If you made nukes with Canadian reactors or uranium, you would find yourself swiftly cut off from any further aid in that area.

So when he’d noticed that over the course of the last three years, one of the largest mines in Saskatchewan had steadily cut its production down by half…Ontario had to worry. He’d tried asking the farmer, only to get stonewalled with a bullshit answer about the mines being “played out” when they clearly weren’t. He could have been selling it under the table to any number of interested parties, all of whom would doubtlessly turn around and build nukes with it. It was a frightening thought; that one of their own provinces had turned into an illegal uranium baron.

There was one other reason for this little mission, Saskatchewan’s shady accounting notwithstanding. And that was the simple fact that the farmer had disappeared for the last three months. He hadn’t been answering his phone; no emails, texts, or any other form of communication seemed to reach him. Alberta’s initial plan involved, in her words, “Jacking a Leopard C2 and fucking storming the place until they give me my brother back.” Which had been about two months ago, but Ontario was incredibly grateful Alberta hadn’t actually opted to hijack a Canadian Army tank and take it for a little joyride.

Ontario huffed out a sigh and flicked his brown eyes up at the ceiling. This truck was filthy and it was really putting the dirty into his blonde, and Alberta’s too, come to think of it. It was so strange to see his youngest sister without her cowboy hat, he noted dimly; then again, it was a bit of a cumbersome thing to wear onto a truck like this. Not to mention it was really cold. The truck’s back area wasn’t heated, and he could see his own breath; Alberta had opted for a camouflage-coloured toque to go with her thick jacket. Ontario didn’t have the heart to tell her that for this kind of a stealth mission, camo was not the way to go. Not that it really mattered; they were going to be here for a good, long while.

* * *

_“Wake up! Wake up, you fucking asshole!”_

Ontario jerked awake, shaking his head and making an audible _“bwuh?!”_ sort of noise in response to the gloved hands suddenly shaking his shoulders. The first thing his bleary brain noticed was the fact that all his limbs appeared to have frozen themselves stiff in the interim, however that had actually been. The second thing he noticed was that there was actually light in the back of the truck, and that it had stopped vibrating. As his ears re-engaged, the sound of two people having a conversation dangerously close to their hiding place caused him to immediately jolt to full alertness. They weren’t supposed to be here, and if they got caught now, well. There would almost certainly be hell to pay.

The moving van’s back door had been rolled up all the way, and both driver and assistant were chatting with each other in plain view of the two huddled provinces. They’d backed the truck into a loading dock and extended a retractable steel sheet between the truck’s bed and the dock, to allow a forklift easier access to the skids of gas and chemicals. As Ontario and Alberta peered out between the crates, they could see a large storage space with lots of people milling around, and more than one forklift moving crates to and fro- but strangely, only the one loading dock. It was also much warmer in the facility, the heat something Ontario was incredibly grateful of as he slowly reached down to his pocket to remove something, eyes flicking from one clueless human to another. The smallest sound seemed deafening to him, and if he lost his balance and fell over, they were both dead.

Alberta looked at him expectantly, taking shaky breath after shaky breath; this may have been her operation, but Ontario was the one who actually had the means to get them out of there alive. He slowly unzipped his parka’s pocket, the both of them wincing at how loud it was in the stillness, and pulled out a small remote control. It was the remote for one of Nunavut’s toy cars, the little radio control rigged up to a _very_ different device than the RC car it was supposed to be connected to. At the truckstop in Prince Albert, while the driver and his navigator were eating lunch in the restaurant, Alberta and Ontario had been rather busy getting the vehicle ready for this precise moment. Ontario had spent quite a bit of time magnetically sticking a couple of little gizmos to the backside of the truck’s front fender, while Alberta had busied herself with the essential task of picking the lock to get them into the truck in the first place. And now, it was the moment of truth; either Ontario’s little toys worked, or they were totally hosed.

The rustling of fabric and Ontario’s noisy zipper seemed to catch the attention of one of the men, who looked into the truck with a raised eyebrow, opening his mouth to ask what the hell that sound had been. Ontario, fully aware that he had mere seconds to pull this off, immediately flicked on the little remote and jabbed at the four buttons in the sequence he’d programmed, praying to god the waterproof snow-shielding had done its job and that none of the distraction-makers had fallen off.

So it was _almost_ a relief when the button-pressing was rewarded with the sound of a bear-banger firing off loudly, and a tinny speaker screaming through the frosty February air about nothing in particular. Almost, because while the bear-bangers firing off one by one had the desired effect- namely, getting the drivers and everyone else to go running towards the source of the distraction- it was a bit of a double-edged sword, because every single BANG seemed to make his already-cantering heart miss a beat or twelve.

Alberta was already on her feet, squeezing out between the rows of strapped-down crates and ignoring the splinters in her coat, boots, and gloves. She could see the loading dock bay, and it was then that she realized that there would need to be a slight change of plans. Thirty feet away was an office with a large glass window that gave its occupant a good view of the goings-on in the facility. And in that office was a man in a swivel chair, looking at the back wall and clearly on the phone. But when Alberta forced her way out of the last row of crates and onto the truck’s steel ramp, she saw him hang up the phone and start to swivel his chair around.

Alberta panicked.

She looked left and right, and much to Ontario’s confusion, she opted to dive off the side of the steel ramp and back outside, landing in a freshly-fallen pile of snow just outside the loading dock with a muffled ‘OOF!” It hurt like hell, the snow stinging her face and nose and hands, but with all the shouting and commotion, the blonde had just enough time to bury herself in the snow, hands frantically shovelling and digging herself into the pile until nothing was visible, not even her stupid camouflage toque. 

Ontario was not so lucky. No sooner had he managed to wriggle himself free than the man at his desk spun around fully and looked up. And across the empty loading dock, their eyes met- and the man was not happy, not at all. He immediately started yelling, or so it seemed by his appearance- slamming a button on his desk and sprinting out of his office. Ontario’s calm intellect and planning abilities completely fizzled out of his brain at the terrifying, heart-stopping realization that he’d been caught.

He started sprinting across the shop floor as the alarm was raised, frantically looking this way and that way for any place to hide. Following Alberta into the snow had appealed to him for a fraction of a second, but then he’d realized that he’d already been seen. Better for one of them to get away instead of both of them getting caught.

Ontario managed to find a closet off to the side to scramble inside, slamming the door behind him just as the guards showed up. He was so, so fucking screwed.

And whatever Saskatchewan was up to here, it sure as hell wasn’t above-board.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This thing'll be posted on a fairly regular schedule; one chapter a day for the next little while, until I clear my backlog of chapters.
> 
> Anyway, without further ado: Chapter two!

Alberta clamped her eyes shut and tried not to breathe, acutely aware that coming here was quite possibly one of the larger mistakes she’d made in her life. She could hear those booted feet stamping around somewhere not too far away, and she sucked in a breath and held it as one of the men approached her pile of snow. And then, mercifully, he walked away, shaking his head and yelling at the others that there was nobody else there. She was trapped, as trapped as she could have possibly been; one twitch, one movement, and the forklift operator would see her. And from there on out? Game over. Her leg was starting to hurt, locked into an uncomfortable position as she waited for them all to leave. So she could…ugh…rescue Ontario. As much as he annoyed her, she could hear him shouting and screaming about…something, and then there was a loud slam, like a door being closed, and then…silence. And Alberta had to listen to all of that, had to listen to something happen to her adopted brother, and not move a muscle the entire time.

The forklift eventually started offloading the crates, or so she assumed from the sounds coming from overhead; Alberta didn’t dare raise her head lest she be spotted. She had to time her breaths, inhaling and exhaling when the forklift driver was in the truck and holding it when he was able to potentially see her. The seconds stretched into minutes, an eternity of lying in the snow, shivering and thanking god that her coat was thick enough to keep her body heat from melting the snow.

And after an eternity of waiting, they seemed to have offloaded every last crate. There was a tremendous clattering and banging as the ramp was retracted into the truck, or perhaps the loading dock; more rumbling thuds and bangs as the doors were wheeled closed; and to her immense and eternal relief, the truck rumbled to life and pulled away. As soon as the roaring of the engine was a distant rumble on the horizon and silence had once more filled the February air, Alberta lifted her head just a smidgen. Just to peek. Just to see if there was anything else, anyone else around.

She breathed a sigh of relief and sat up, brushing the now off her coat and sighing about her soaking wet jeans. Her legs were going to get a bit of frostbite, since her body heat had melted the snow around her jeans and soaked the fabric through; but on the other hand, there was nothing soaking into her parka, which was all she could really ask. Alberta sat up and stretched, taking stock of her surroundings and deciding the best course of action was not to stay around here like a stupid sitting duck. She climbed to her feet and started to trot through the snow, looking around for any signs of life and finding none. The loading dock was inset into what appeared to be a stone cliff face carved from a weirdly symmetrical hill, so Alberta decided to walk along the top of it for awhile. It was probably some kind of underground…thing.

Though…that still didn’t explain why all the trees on this hill looked so damn strange.

As she waded through the much shallower snow on top of the hill, the blue0eyed province noticed that the trees on top of the hill didn’t seem to have any moss or old man’s beard growing on them. No lichen, either, and another strange thing was the lack of seedlings or rocks in the ground. She kept walking, more than a smidgen weirded out by the unnatural trees, until her curiosity finally got the better of her and she walked up to one and had a closer look.

“Oh, Fuck. They’re fake?” 

They certainly seemed to be, at least on the surface. Well aware that she was now officially talking to herself, but unable to muster the necessary number of fucks to give, Alberta reached out and tugged at one of the pine tree’s branches, attempting to separate some of the needles. This outright confirmed it; the needles were all made of plastic. These trees were all fake, placed here for reasons beyond her comprehension. Possibly to make it impossible to detect what was going on here from Google Maps; one would have to be standing next to these fake trees to know that they were even fake to begin with. The fake forest of fake trees made Alberta shudder- it was just intrinsically _wrong,_ moreso than if they’d just stuck their facility in the boonies and called it a day. What in god’s name were they so worried about being discovered, anyway?

The plastic pines weren’t forthcoming with answers, and Alberta started to get a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t good-whatever it was Sasky was doing up here, he didn’t want anyone to know about it.

Suddenly, she noticed something far ahead of her, and immediately crouch down behind one of the pathetically thin fake trees, fully aware that it did nothing but make her a more visible target if there was anyone watching. About ten meters away, there was some kind of ladder-cage sticking out of the ground- it was locked tightly, not that that was any deterrent to her and her selection of lockpicks. Alberta snorted in the frosty evening air in bitter amusement- it was Saskatchewan himself that had taught her how to pick deadbolt locks like this, one lazy Sunday afternoon in the dead of winter.  And here she was, using that same skill he’d taught her to figure out what the fuck he was up to. On the other hand, Alberta lacked the patience for Saskatchewan’s fiddly method of messing around and shunting tumblers into place; she’d brought a little gadget of her own that did the same job way, WAY better.

The cage didn’t seem to be under any kind of surveillance, nor did there seem to be anyone around, so Alberta walked up to it and opened her coat, removing a small box from the inner pouch of the parka and pulling it out. It was a lucky thing she’d learned of this little trick instead of the “stick two bits of steel into the lock and poke at it until something gives” method, because her fingers were far too cold for that to be a viable option. Instead, Alberta opened her little case and pulled out a hand-sized tool that looked faintly like a handgun if you squinted at it, and slotted into it a little piece of metal. She also removed a little torsion wrench from the kit, slotting both the little gun’s metal bit and the wrench into the lock at the same time. The gun, or snap gun, was a handy way of getting into deadbolts without a key- by pulling the trigger, it jolted all the tumbler pins upwards in their channels, allowing the torsion wrench to open the lock without damaging it. And with a little click and a turn, Alberta was in, just like that.

The deadbolt on the cage was defeated, but that just left her staring at what appeared to be a patch of snow with an unusually complicated opening mechanism on the door to the cage surrounding it. She dropped to her knees, packing up her lockpicking kit and slipping it back inside her parka, then putting on her gloves and starting to dig at the snow. Great handfuls of the soft white powder were flung in all directions, haphazardly and thoughtlessly; this was probably some kind of emergency hatch or something. And her digging was rewarded when her fingers finally thunked against something solid and concrete- and through the miasma of powder flakes, Alberta could see that it had been painted to look like a forest’s floor, with fake grass glued in place to give the impression that it was a natural thing, at least from the air. Her work was rewarded with a crude seam along the edge, demarcating a hatch that was sealed shut- probably an emergency exit of some kind, or perhaps a secret entrance. She brushed away the last bit of snow covering a locked Plexiglas flip-cover over a switch- and shrugged. Personally she would have gone with a keypad, but hey, hers not to reason why and all that.

A few noisy clicks later and Alberta casually flipped the switch, jumping back a bit when her fiddling was rewarded by a huge, heavy lock disengaging and the circular hatch sliding into a special slot designed to accommodate it with a heavy motorized whirring and grinding sound. It was also pretty quick; no sooner had she packed up her tools and slipped her gloves back on than the hatch was fully open and offering a hole straight into the bowels of the fucking earth. Seriously, it was pitch-black down there, and Alberta shuddered as she slipped the case back in her coat and started to climb the ladder down.

Hand over hand, rung over rung, she descended into the facility’s darkened depths as quietly as she could; this entire situation was staring to make the small hairs at the back of her blond mane stand on end. Alberta did not like this, not at all, and when her booted foot made contact with the tile floor both uncomfortably hard and frighteningly loud, she let out a petrified squawk of momentary animal fright. But at least she had both feet on the ground, and in the dim light of the setting sun far above, she could at least make out some of the room around her. It was some kind of a storage room, with a plethora of lockers for a worker to store their belongings- great, just what she needed, a small room with only one means of escape and a virtual guarantee that someone would be coming in here.

She scanned over the lockers, and then looked around- they were secured with a fairly simple school combination lock, something that experience had taught her was fairly easy for her provincial muscle to overcome. Tempered deadbolts took a finer touch, but cheap high-school padlocks? Not a problem.

Alberta grabbed the shackle of the locker in front of her and grunted, pulling the shackle and snapping all the internal mechanisms without breaking a sweat. A trivial matter for a personification such as herself, but Alberta remained oblivious as to her superior position with regards to her strength. With a population three million strong and an economy that many would term a powerhouse, she had the might to snap a little steel lock like this with ease.

The locker’s contents were suddenly available to her, and to her delight, the first thing she found was a lab coat, and mercifully, a pair of sunglasses. The other thing she gathered from the woman’s locker- for it was a woman that owned it, or at least, that’s what the photos stuck to the insides lead her to believe- was that she was away on holiday and coming back to work the next day. There was a large calendar glued to the inside, showing the current month; and the week that had passed was demarcated with ‘BARBADOS <3’ in bright red sharpie. Alberta squinted at the calendar even as she set about slipping into the woman’s work clothes and shoving the sunglasses onto her face, because the next day, tomorrow…it had been circled several times, and in place of a description, “22:13” had been scrawled, underlined, and circled a few times. Whatever it was, it seemed to be incredibly important; Alberta’s curiosity was now piqued. What was it that Saskatchewan was up to, exactly?

She changed into the work gear in the locker, initially hesitant to leave her coat behind. She transferred her stuff to the pockets of her lab coat, looking over the photo again- as long as she kept her head down and maybe claimed she’d dyed her hair on vacation…? On the other hand, she still needed to tie it up, like the woman had done in her photo. Thankfully, the actual owner of this locker kept a box of hair ties in the locker itself, so as soon as Alberta had transferred all her personal belongings to the pockets of her lab coat and stuffed her boots and jacket in the locker, she tied her hair back and grabbed a clipboard.

It was only as Alberta was doing up the buttons of her lab coat that she noticed the name printed on the coat itself- Doctor Summers.

“Heh, cool. I’m a doctor now.”          

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, leave me some kudos or a comment if you're reading this and you like it! Reviews help me know this thing's actually getting read. 
> 
> If you spot any mistakes or other stupidity, let me know, eh guys?


	3. Chapter 3

_Five years previously…_

_The gas station store was acceptably dingy for a small-town establishment, piled high to the ceiling with goods and snacks and socks and so forth. Saskatchewan’s truck had been running on fumes when they’d pulled in, or so he’d claimed; Alberta’s cursory glance at the fuel gauge indicated otherwise, though some topping up was certainly prudent._

_Alberta grabbed a drink from one of the gas station’s many fridges, falling in line behind her brother to patiently await her turn. She certainly didn’t need her twin paying for a bit of soda, especially when he’d turned down her offer to pay for his gas._

_Eavesdropping was always rude, but considering there were just three people in the shop, it was next to impossible. But even as she tried to look away, Saskatchewan decided to so something very odd indeed._

_“…And can I get some scratchcards, too.” He said flatly, and this prompted Alberta to quirk an eyebrow. Scratchcards? Saskatchewan wasn’t a gambler by any stretch of the imagination. He’d go to a casino once every few years as a treat, or play poker with the family, but she’d never in her life heard of him buying lottery tickets for any reason. A waste of money, he’d always declared them, or a tax on the stupid._

_And yet._

_“Right, how many and what kinds would you like?”_

_“I’d like…that one, that one…No, No, that one right there_ specifically.”

_The man behind the counter was more than a tad bit baffled by this, and he resorted to pulling the entire thing out and laying on top so Saskatchewan could pick his specific tickets. Alberta raised an eyebrow as she watched her brother skim his fingers over the selection, like he was trying to see which ones were winning tickets and which ones weren’t just by glance._

_Or like he was trying to remember something._

_He finally picked out three that satisfied him, and then, for some strange reason, looked at the cashier and added, “Can I also get two random ones? Just the really cheap ones, a dollar apiece.”_

_The man shrugged and fished out the requested tickets, and Alberta was utterly baffled. As the cashier rang up her twin’s order, she started to rack her brains, trying to think of some explanation for his weird behaviour. There was none, or at least none that satisfied her._

_Saskatchewan paid with a fifty-dollar bill and stepped aside as soon as the tickets and his change were in his hands. Immediately he set to work on one of the cards, fingers trailing the surface of the printed paper sheet before selecting his spot and starting to scratch._

_Alberta slapped a fiver on the counter and mumbled something about keeping the change to the cashier, concern for her twin growing. She tapped him on the shoulder to pull him away from his ticket, the look of worry on her face persisting all the way to her brother’s truck._

_The door was safely slammed behind her when she finally chose to say,_

_“…This better not be a new thing, bro. You know gambling’s really stupid, right?”_

_Saskatchewan just replied with a grunt, leaning on the wheel and continuing to scratch at the pretty golden ticket the man had sold him. The truck sat idly in place in the pumps, Saskatchewan’s focus unruffled. For several uncomfortable seconds, the truck’s cab was filled by the noise of a loonie scratching at the paper and Alberta’s frosty breathing. Finally, with a pile of shavings on his lap, Saskatchewan leaned back and looked at the ticket._

_And he looked terrified._

_“…I won….” He mumbled, staring at it with wide, wondrous eyes. “…I…I won. It…I won.”_

_Alberta snorted and folded her arms._

_“That’s great, Sask. You wanna start the truck? I can see my own breath here, and I think that guy in the store is about to give you hell for hogging his only pump.”_

_That seemed to startle her twin into action, turning the key and pulling out of the station before the man could come outside to yell at them. Just before Saskatchewan pulled out onto the highway, he put the ticket on the console between them- an ideal position for Alberta, so she could see what vast fortunes her brother had won._

_It couldn’t be anything more than a toonie, right?_

_“…What.”_

_Her eyes ran over the printed text a few more times to be sure, only for the results to come back the same, again and again. It wasn’t just a trick of the light; Saskatchewan had just won **ten thousand dollars.**_

_“You just- you just won- Ten- TEN FUCKING GRAND?!” she spluttered, eyes wide, and if Saskatchewan weren’t used to his sister’s outbursts he might have swerved off the road._

_“Yeah.” He said quietly, but the understated reply was hiding a wealth of emotion- for one thing, he was smiling like an idiot and there was a gleam in his eyes that- wait. Alberta whipped her head around to study her twin’s facial expression and quirked an eyebrow._

_That wasn’t an “I’ve just won ten grand” Sasky-face. That was an “I’ve just been proven totally right about something very important and dear to me” Sasky-face. And the difference between the two was far from a subtle distinction._

_Before she could question him or demand an explanation for what the actual blinking fuckbaskets the man was playing at, Saskatchewan pulled the other tickets out of his pockets without taking his eyes off the road and handed them to her._

_“Here. Scratch these for me, would you? I’ll let you keep one of the winners in there.”_

_And the way he said it was so certain, so SURE; so sure of something that couldn’t be true, couldn’t be knowable or possible._

_It was like her brother had somehow acquired the ability to see the future or something._

_So Alberta shrugged her shoulders, grabbed a toonie from the empty cupholder between them (Saskatchewan kept his change there so he could pay faster at the drive-thru at Tim Horton’s) and set to scratching._

_After a few minutes, she was staring open-mouthed at the pieces of paper sitting innocently in her hands as if that would make them start to actually make a lick of sense._

_“….You won…Five grand on this ticket, and this one…five hundred dollars. I…I don’t- Saskatchewan, HOW?! HOW did you pick the only three tickets- How the fuck did you just win fifteen fucking grand on SCRATCHCARDS?!”_

_“Ten grand and five hundred dollars. You can keep the five thousand. I got what I needed.”_

_At the sound of each of his victories, the smile on his face had ticked upwards just that little bit more. Like he was trying to prove a point- to someone, or maybe himself._

_“Did you…Did you find a way to hack the lottery’s database or something?”_

_Saskatchewan just shook his head at her accusation, pulling onto the side road that lead to his farm._

_“No, I just got...Friends in high places.” He said with a smile as they rumbled over the snowy gravel road._

_The non-answer didn’t satisfy Alberta at all, especially because he had a glimmer of a lie on his face, like he wasn’t telling her the full story of what exactly transpired back there at the gas station._

_“…Oh, yeah…uh….by the way, with the little tickets, the loonie ones…one was a dud and the other won ya two dollars. Just letting you know.”_

_Saskatchewan’s smile ticked upwards even further, and by this point he was nearly grinning ear-to-ear._

_“Thanks so much, Allie. That…I really needed to hear that.” He said as he pulled up to his own house and killed the engine._

_“I promise you won’t regret this. This…I’m gonna do something really great with that money, just you wait. You’re gonna love what I’m gonna do with it, I promise.”_

_Somehow, Alberta seriously doubted that._

* * *

Alberta’s shoes clacked off the tile floors in time with her thundering heart, the smile on her face forced and nervous. She was in the lion’s den in a tissue-thin disguise, and if anyone found her out, she was doomed. On the other hand, the halls seemed to be unusually empty for this time of day; so perhaps she was just worrying too much?

And then a guard with a machine gun would walk by and Alberta would realize that no, she wasn’t being too paranoid.

She walked like she belonged, and the guards never stopped her; a useful trick in trying times. As she walked down the hallways, or more accurately wandered, she kept a sharp eye out for a nameplate on the doors that might match the one on her lab coat. If Doctor Summers was actually a higher up in this…project of her brother’s, then her office might have documents pertaining to what was going on here.

As Alberta walked, she took careful notice of something unusual. Pipes. Pipes, all over the walls. They seemed to poke out of one wall and then connect to the next, and occasionally layers of them would overlap each other….and all the pipes were splattered with warnings screaming about danger and toxins and heavy metals…and the trefoil symbol that she recognized as the warning for radiation. Whatever was in those pipes…it couldn’t be good at all.

There was a distant BANG, and Alberta jumped a little bit- that had been really worryingly loud. She could only hope that the noise was the result of something the facility was supposed to do, rather than something going catastrophically wrong- she really didn’t want to be in a facility that was melting down with radioactive crap in the pipes.

Whatever it was they were doing here was quite likely illegal, Alberta realized distantly, and beyond a shadow of a doubt dangerous. And the posters all but confirmed her suspicions. There were printed posters taped up nearly everywhere- crisply printed affairs with striking colours and bold type. One such poster, printed above a water fountain, read WHAT YOU SEE HERE MUST STAY HERE” with a depiction of a ruffed grouse with its beak tied shut. That really was not helping steady her nerves in the slightest.

There was a small amount of good news, though. Just past the water fountain was a small office with the blinds drawn, and more to the point, a plaque screwed into the door reading “DOCTOR J. SUMMERS, PROJECT QUARTERBACK HEAD DIRECTOR.”

Alberta tried the doorhandle and found to her dismay that it was locked. Maybe there was something in the pockets of her lab coat…? A quick fumble through the pockets revealed a smattering of strange things- a “Moon Pie”, a small cookie/ cakelike object which looked suspiciously like a Wagon Wheel in a differently-printed wrapper, a thing of pencil lead…and a keycard. Thanking the god that was surely looking out for her, Alberta swiped the keycard through the lock’s slot, breathing out a small sigh of relief when the lock clicked, the light flashed green, and the lock disengaged. Quickly she slipped inside the office and slammed the door behind her, finally able to actually let out the nervous breath she’d been holding.

The lightswitch was thankfully within easy reach, and she cast her eyes over the scientist’s office, eyes lingering on the certificates and awards she’d received- And impressive decorations they were, too. PHD in Nuclear Physics from some prestigious American university….Yale, apparently. It was definitely a Yank school, if the great big fucking eagle splashed across the paper was any indication; and various awards and medals from…the US military?! A cold shudder ran down her spine as Alberta realized what might happen if anyone found out that she wasn’t Doctor Summers, or more to the point, if anyone started talking to her.

She sure as fuck didn’t know anything about nuclear physics and nuclear science; hell, she only knew that uranium was actually a metal and not a glowing green rock because Saskatchewan had showed her a lump of it he’d pinched from one of the mines up north. So basically if anyone talked to her, or so much as asked her a question, she was totally hosed.

But in the meantime, her eyes were drawn to a folder on the desk- and more importantly, the fact that there was writing on the front cover.

The writing, she immediately recognized as her brother’s; a green pen and tight, precise motions to make the letters neat and legible and easily-read by anyone. Oh, and the minor detail that it was all in Ukrainian.

Not a word of English. Ukrainian.

Which did several things. One, it outright confirmed her brother was here…and two, it proved that Saskatchewan’s idea of “encryption” was the laziest thing she’d ever seen.

Honestly, it was just kind of pathetic.

Alberta pulled up a seat and cracked open the manila folder, easily reading the Ukrainian and wondering what in god’s name захисник проект was and why it was just a sub-project of a larger whole.

And all the while, unbeknownst to Alberta, a camera high above, hidden behind a fake air duct, watched her every move.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter posted as you please...Not getting a lot of traffic on this but y'know. Whatever, man.
> 
> If you're reading this, leave some kudos or a comment! I'm currently running a competition to see whether Ao3 or FF.net treats this fic better. We'll see how it all works out. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

Ontario came back to life with a gasp, eyes snapping open to try and take stock of his surroundings as he gulped down air in huge amounts, trying to fill his lungs with as much as he could. He breathed almost greedily, completely unaware of how long it had been since he’d…well, died. And where was he now? Seated, or, well, chained to a chair. Around his wrists and ankles, and from the feel of it, his chest and waist too, which the province really felt was total overkill. He struggled a bit, only to realize that these restraints had been custom-made to contain his strength. This was not a pleasant feeling for a province of his might, to realize that he was truly trapped someplace he didn’t want to be. But more terrifying than that…was how he’d ended up here at all.

Because the fact that he was in this chair at all, in these _chains_ at all, was enough to give him nightmares.

 The guards had easily found him in that little closet and had hauled him out, pointing guns in his face and ordering him to lie on the floor. But then they didn’t just shoot him on the spot, as any sane guard would have done. No, one of them knelt down and had a very close, very thorough look at his face, studying it in minute detail, while another one of them took his wallet out of his pocket and went through it. Ontario gulped as he realized the implications of the words that had been shouted- “WE GOT A MATCH!”

They knew who he was. They knew WHAT he was. They, those guards, had KNOWN he couldn’t die, had KNOWN what to look for in his wallet…and then they’d acted accordingly. 

Because one of them had suddenly put his knee into the province’s back, had pushed him down and held him there…as his hands wrapped a piece of steel wire around his neck and drawn it tight.

And they’d killed him.

But that betrayed a planned and coordinated effort, a foreknowledge of what to do with him…and they’d strangled him to death. Death by strangulation was always one of the quickest revivals, because there was often little structural damage to repair outside of the choke point- little tissue damage, no blood to regenerate, and so on. So that was a deliberate manner of making him easier to move, then; it was a lot easier to relocate a corpse than a person.

Which still left him waiting for the man of the hour to show up. And boy oh boy was he going to let fly when Saskatchewan did eventually show up. If Saskatchewan decided to actually show up. It wasn’t a sure thing, really.

Time seemed to blur by. He could have been sitting there a minute, or an hour; his watch had been taken from him, and with no other method of knowing how long had gone by, he started to mutter to himself, counting upwards in a continuous sequence. And then he tried counting down from sixty and extending a finger each time he did so. But then after the fifth round of running out of fingers, he lost count and gave it up.

Ontario must have nodded off at some point, because he jolted awake as the door started to open, slowly; it had a loud and complicated locking mechanism, but soon enough it swung open, and the very man he’d been expecting to see strode inside. And the province’s eyes went wide as he took in the sight of his younger brother, all grown up and dressed like a modest Bond villain.

The look didn’t suit him, really; the crisp grey suit and white shirt just seemed completely off for a man who looked his best in muddy boots and jeans. And yet here he was, his straw-blonde hair combed back neatly instead of concealed beneath a hand-woven straw hat. He’d even trimmed his beard and shaped it a bit, for god’s sake. This from Saskatchewan, the farmer. Ontario noticed a curious detail- a large, squarish ring on his right hand, wrapped comfortably around his ring finger. Saskatchewan never wore jewellery, since he’d heard too many horror stories about it getting caught in farm equipment and ruining lives to take the chance. On him it would always grow back; but why take the risk at all? Better to spare himself the agony. And yet here it was, this fat silver ring, with an inscription reading _2013_ on it.

His younger brother’s face was angular, with a pointed chin and chiselled nose; neither of which looked particularly friendly or welcoming at that moment. Saskatchewan’s face was its usual blank, unreadable mask, but there was a gleam in those cold green eyes that Ontario did not like at all.  His eyes were drawn to another curious detail- an earring. His younger brother had gotten his ear pierced, and there was a thin gold loop sitting in the hole, one he couldn’t take out lest it seal up the second he removed it.

And they stood there, eye to eye, for a good ten seconds, as Ontario slowly tried to burrow back into his chair. Saskatchewan’s face seemed to twitch- quirking up into a half-smile for a fraction of a second. And there was still that gleam in his green eyes as he continued to study Ontario like he was a prey animal, staying silent all the while. The eastern province was more than a little disturbed by this- and it was unnerving him to the point where all of his questions had dribbled out of his brain and onto the floor.

Finally he managed to work up the gumption to speak, though his voice was barely a whisper.

“…Saskatchewan…” he croaked, throat suddenly dry, “Why….what are you doing here? What is this place?”

The expressionless face suddenly shifted, and Ontario couldn’t help but feel like he was a small animal in the jaws of a bear, because Saskatchewan’s face had a distinctively predatory vibe to it.

And then….

“Що ми робимо ? Це не твоя турбота , дурень.”

And Ontario wanted to scream.

“Oh my god, please- please don’t give me this. Please don’t do this. Please don’t play this game with me, Saskatchewan-“

The blonde just smirked at him, the thin line of his lips looking decidedly nasty.

“Don’t play what game?” He asked sweetly, a cruel little gleam in his eyes, “Because I’m not playing any games, Onty. You came here with the sole intention of ruining my plans, and I’m afraid that’s not something I can allow.”

Ontario’s eyes went wide.

“How did you-”

“I have my ways, but that’s not really important right now. What is important is that I know everything you’re up to. I know Alberta’s here. I know she’s picking all my locks. And I know that even if she does manage to get into the nerve center of our operation here, she won’t have a clue what she’s looking at.”

He smiled cruelly, looking down at the ring on his finger with a huge grin before letting it fall by his side again. Ontario’s eyes were drawn to it- it was just….disgustingly gaudy. Embedded with rhinestones, or something similar, in the shape of…well. There were green and silver ones, arranged in the shape of a sweeping **_S_** on a bevelled green rhombus.

“What’s that for-“

“None of your damn business. It’s…something I’ve been dreaming of all my life.” The reply was characteristically flat once more, the intensity of his statement carried through in the man’s eyes and nothing else.

If Ontario didn’t know better, he’d have said that it was a Grey Cup ring. But that was stupid. The Canadian Football league was a prominent organization, sure…but Saskatchewan didn’t have a team in that league. Actually, the province didn’t have a team in anything of mention, really; save perhaps a few junior leagues here and there. But that ring looked for all the world like something Saskatchewan had had done up to look like the commemorative rings given out to the winners of the grey cup...for a team with an S in their logo.

There were no teams in the CFL with a logo in the shape of an S.

But that wasn’t the main issue. What mattered was that Saskatchewan…well, he knew Alberta was there, for a start, but that was hardly news at all. Personifications could sense other personifications on their soil, so he’d obviously know about his sister. But whatever it was he was doing here was clearly illegal, and Ontario had a sneaking suspicion he knew what was happening here.

But…

“..That ring.” He said, deciding to test the waters and his theory all in one by asking about something that didn’t matter, “Why did you get that gaudy thing, anyway? Is it for some college team down in the ‘States-”

Saskatchewan’s sudden sharp scowl surprised Ontario with its ferocity, and he immediately wished he hadn’t spoken about it. But on closer inspection, what he’d thought to be rhinestones appeared to be-

“It’s silver. With emeralds and opals. I had it made for me.” He said flatly, “And no, it’s not American. Not even _close.”_

The mere mention, the mere suggestion that the ring might have some connection to the USA seemed to disgust his brother more than Ontario had expected. The final word he hissed out through clenched teeth, those bright green eyes narrowed to slits.

“It’s something I should have had four fucking times over by now, Ontario. And now? Now, well, now we all get to pay the price.”

“What fucking price?!” Ontario blurted, hysteria rising in his voice, “Saskatchewan, you better not be fucking refining-“

“So what if I am? And what the hell are you going to do about it, Ontario? Oh wait, I already know. You’re going to do nothing. You’re going to sit in that chair and not fucking move for the next three hours while everyone who ruined my life burns alive. And there’s nothing you can fucking do about it, Ontario. Not _one fucking thing.”_

Ontario gulped.

There was a certainty in his eyes. Saskatchewan wasn’t saying that because he _thought_ those chains would hold Ontario or that the guards would keep him in place or anything like that; he was saying that because he _knew._ He _knew_ what was going to happen.

Or at least he thought he did.

Ontario rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. And you’re suddenly able to see the fucking future-“

“And the past. The past I wouldn’t have normally been able to see. The past of everyone I want, anyone I choose. I know things, Ontario. I know I’m going to win today. I know my plan is going to work. I know I’m going to win, and I know what you’re going to do to stop me: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And you know what else I know?”

And then Saskatchewan, stone-faced Saskatchewan, smiled. Hugely. The grin of the fucking Joker on a man who spent his life embodying the concept of stoicism. Ontario shuddered.

“I know things about you. I know the things you like to do in the dark, Onty…And frankly, they disgust me. That they don’t disgust _you_ is the part I’m surprised by. Maybe Manny was right this entire time. Maybe you really _are_ depraved. But why don’t I tell you what you did three weeks ago, hmm?”

And Ontario, locked rigid and eyes wide with a cold horror he didn’t even know possible was unable to move away as his younger fucking _brother_ moved in close and whispered something in his ear.

The effect was instantaneous.

“NO- NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, HOW THE FUCK- NO!” Ontario turned bright red, his stomach churning in fear and disgust and shame. His face had gone bright red in flaming, mortified shame- but this was coupled with a flaming sense of horror and discomfort.

It was his _brother_ saying the impossible to him, his _brother_ continuing to whisper the events of a night that he shouldn’t- that he COULDN’T have known. Ontario was horrified, screaming in desperation for Saskatchewan to stop, please, oh fucking god, please, please, no more, PLEASE FUCKING STOP-

“Oh, are you a bit uncomfortable hearing me talk about this? Hmm. Wonder how I fucking felt when I had to watch that, eh? Fucking sick. _You_ are fucking sick. And the kick in the head is, _you fucking liked it._ ”

Ontario went limp.

Saskatchewan just straightened up and dusted himself off.

“Anyway. I have more important things I need to do. Three hours ‘till kickoff, Ontario. Pity you won’t get to see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck knows why I'm bothering posting this thing to Ao3 anyway. It's not like this shit gets any traffic and certainly not compared to the same fic on FF.net. 
> 
> Whatever, b'y's. I know nobody's reading this anyway, because horror of horrors, I dared to write a fic about OC's with no shipping in it. Fucking gasp, right? Sorry about that. Forgot it was against the rules or whatever.
> 
> Whatever. If you are actually reading this and want me to bother updating this thing, leave a comment or some kudos. I really appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> The other reason I'm posting this here is as a test of Ao3 versus FF.net. If I get more feedback on Ao3, it's very likely I'll dump FF.net altogether and start porting more of my works over here. So y'know. 
> 
> Leave a review if you liked it, hated it, or want me to go swallow some fluorine gas myself!


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